Blue Ice
by USAwesome
Summary: Canada goes down to the rink to think about his life. Warning: Use of human names, use of country names


**Blue Ice**

Matthew Williams has been pummeled and tourtured since he came into the world. The Canadian representative takes every punch and kick for his brother, the American representative. Nobody remembers him. Not even his polar bear companion, Kumajiro... or his father, France... or his mother, England... or his only brother, Alfred. They don't notice a thing he says or does. If he dropped dead today, he probably would be buried with a blank headstone. He lies to everyone, making everything "alright". Even though you've kicked him when he was down, he forgives you.

Today he decided to do what he loved most, and go skating at the ice rink where he was staying. Fortunately, he was in Vancouver, so Rogers arena was open. He picked up the drawstring bag with his skates in it, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out of the apartment building. Catching a ride on the bus, he stood with his head hanging down, a song reverberating in his mind. Limp Bizkit's "Behind Blue Eyes" rolled around in his skull and only ceased to be when the air brakes were pressed on. "Rodger's Arena!" shouted the Bus driver.

Matthew quietly stepped off, paying his toll, and stood on the concrete entrance. He looked back at Abbot Street, seeing only cars whisk by, so he headed inside the Gate 3 plaza. As he walked down the hallways he found the entrance to the rink, through the locker rooms. He sat on the Vancouver Canucks' bench and slowly tied his skates on. They were some of the latest Crazy Lite's, and needed some sharpening, but he didn't care. He was here to skate. And to think.

Gently, he plopped down onto the ice and slid over to the far right, getting the hang of things again. It'd been a few weeks since he last skated, and had lost a few things. Even so, he was Canadian, it was in his blood, and he picked up fast. Soon he was flying around the rink like Wayne Gretzky, himself.

As the figure-8's multiplied, Matthew thought to himself.

_"Why am I so invisible? I try to make myself more apparent, yet everyone still ignores everything I do."_

His skates touched the ground harshly as he came down from a 360-degree spin.

_"I look nothing like Alfred... If I looked like anybody, it'd be France..."_

A leg swung out and Matthew corkscrewed around, making ice fly at the goal. He then placed his arms behind his back and skated backwards, slowly turning around and facing the Molson Canadian ad. As he got closer to the goal, he gently jumped up and sat on the net.

He thought of the movie "Slapshot" and giggled to himself. The strip scene popped into his head and imagined it all happening right in front of him. He could practically hear the announcer shouting, "I don't want all you young fellas out there to think that this is the way to play hockey!" Another chuckle arose to his lips as he hopped down and skated over to the other goal, around it, and slingshot himself towards the blue line. He stopped and stood in the center ice circle, then started drawing it out with one leg, ice flying once again.

He remembered a hockey puck he had brought with him in his bag, and got it out, kicking it around on the ice. As he became used to the feel of it against his skates, he started performing trick shots. Bouncing it off the walls, kicking it up into the air, and shooting it at the goals.

Matthew became so entangled up in his own thoughts, he didn't even notice that a dirty-blonde man had come in, sitting up in section 119. During his whole escapade, that same song was playing throughout the arena, but Matthew didn't notice, he was too lost in his actions to notice anything but the ice. He began to slow down and just do laps around the rink, but finally stopped and sat down in the center circle again.

Suddenly a loud clapping came from the dirty-blonde man, and it scared Matthew. His head shot up to look straight at the section and saw his brother.

"A-Alfred?"

Alfred just smiled and came down, walking out onto the ice. Matthew got up, holding the puck in his hands, and skated over. His jeans were soaking wet from the ice, and his red t-shirt was damp with sweat. "Mattie!" shouted Alfred, "What'cha doing out here? Everyone's waiting for you back at your place." Matthew couldn't belive what he was hearing, "Really? What for, Alfred?"

Again, he smiled, "Today's your birthday, idiot, or did you forget?"

Matthew sighed and laughed, "I guess I forgot."


End file.
